Poetry

Midnight Snack

I didn’t open the packet of ham,
though my stomach growled
and clawed for sustenance.
The package sat unopened,
a perfect and joyful clam,
and clutching that pearl meant pain for someone.
Me, for my perfectionist streak;
the animals, for their murders.
My hands avoided the first cut,
and the second,
the plasticine rending,
I would not do.
Hunger unending, for my laziness,
my strangeness – adieu.

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